


Skydiving for Former Band Managers

by jjtaylor



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjtaylor/pseuds/jjtaylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shape of his life has always been a boomerang; he’s always traveling away from what he left until the very moment he’s traveling back towards it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skydiving for Former Band Managers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to shiningartifact for beta and hand-holding. Set sometime after the recording of Conventional Weapons. Brief references to addiction. Some poor communication about poly relationships. 
> 
> Inspired by [these](https://twitter.com/iamjustbrian/status/25761430348)  
> [ three](https://twitter.com/iamjustbrian/statuses/30311361523228672) [tweets](https://twitter.com/iamjustbrian/status/25926782293).

Brian means it when he says he wants out of the music business. It's tied up in too many too good and too bad parts of his life. He walks away and it feels good, it's the right decision.

Two years (a year and 320 days, the addict's count says in his head) later and Alias Records pops up on his radar. And suddenly he's not so sure.

He shouldn't want to buy a label and rebuild it from the ground up. It's not that he doesn't have the time, or the money, or the skill. He just shouldn't want to. He left this business. But the shape of his life has always been a boomerang; he’s always traveling away from what he left until the very moment he’s traveling back towards it. 

 

Five earnest kids with raw talent shouldn’t feel uncomfortably familiar - it’s a winning formula all over the industry. He didn’t take them on because of any formula, though. He heard them play and he knew.

He's booked them for the first slot recording this morning. He's not surprised when the entire band is late. They're kids, and 8 AM is obscene to them. Brian's not going to cut them any slack. They'll thank him for it later.

Matthew and Ian, bassist and singer, are being herded in by Kyle, lead guitar. Kristie and Arianna, drummer and keyboardist, are behind him, looking perfect, like they've never seen a bad morning in their lives. But they're both clutching coffee and ignoring the boys. It's 8:25.

"I want a track ready to lay down by 9:00," Brian says. It'll never happen, but he's not going to tell them that. 

"Can I lie down first?" Kyle says. Ian kicks him in the shins and the girls sigh.

They have a good couple of hours, and then something shifts in the band. It's subtle, but Brian's watching for it. They're new and they're young and there are plenty of places for things to crack, so he lets them play through two more songs, messing with the arrangements to see if he can spot where it is, exactly, whether it's an issue between two of them or if it's one person. By the time they're testing out the new guitar line, they whole band is bickering, and Brian sends them all out for lunch and tells them not to come back until tomorrow. 

"8 AM this time, not 8:25. Don't waste my time." They all look worn down enough to be properly scolded through their cockiness and defiance.

 

Brian gets a call around midnight. When he sees it’s from Ian’s number, he knows what’s going on before he even answers.

“Hey, Schechter, thank god,” the kid says when he answers. It doesn’t sound like Ian. “Sorry, it’s Kyle, I have Ian’s phone. I kind of have Ian’s everything. Listen, I’m some kind of accidental designated driver, since I got here late and everyone’s trashed - “

“Have you been drinking?” Brian asks. CJ stirs in bed next to him, tugging the sheets further over her shoulder.

“No, I haven’t even had time to order a drink with Matt getting thrown out of the bar and Ian passing out under the fire escape. I got his keys, but - I can’t drive stick.”

Brian chokes back a laugh.

“Now is not the time for dick jokes, Schechter,” Kyle says, but he’s laughing, too.

“Do you have money?” Brian says. “Call a cab.”

“Ian’s car’s gonna get towed if we leave it here overnight,” Kyle says. “I couldn’t get Arianna to answer her phone, maybe she’s asleep and - “

“I’ll come get you,” Brian says. “I’ll drive Ian and his car back to his place.”

“I see how it is, you've driven stick before,”

Yeah, Brian has.

 

Kyle is still in the studio the next morning when Brian gets there. He's leaning against the wall, hands jammed into the pockets of his too-tight jeans in a way that makes Brian want to talk about long-term finger-strength and maybe reproductive health if he's feeling like an asshole.

Whatever else went on last night is weighing on the kid, however easygoing he’d been about having to call Brian for help, or hefting Ian into the backseat or sending disapproving texts to Matt about fleeing the scene when things got tough. Kyle is the stable one, and everyone's relying on him. Brian's seen it before. Hell, Brian's _been_ it before.

"Hey," Brian says, and Kyle kind of closes his eyes and shakes his head no, like Brian's even asked a question. "Hey, you're ok."

"I'm gonna quit.”

"Nah," Brian says, because he knows what Kyle's feeling and he knows it's not that. "You're gonna be ok."

Kyle shakes his head again, and Brian says, "Come here," and hugs the kid, quick and tight. Kyle kind of shakes into it and rests his chin on Brian's shoulder, the tall lanky fuck. He sighs into Brian's neck, breath warm, and Brian's heart picks up before he quashes the thought, smacking it away hard as he can. No, this isn't the same. This isn't the fucking same. But then the kid tilts his head, brings their mouths close, and then presses his mouth to Brian's, and fuck. Fuck. He has a split second to make the decision. He kisses Kyle back, companionable and gentle and Kyle stumbles back.

"Fuck, sorry," Kyle says, and Brian just smirks. 

"Not used to someone kissing you back when you do that, huh?" Brian says. Kyle flushes read. "Yeah, I've been here before," Brian says, and feels his stomach bottom out at how much of a fucking understatement that is. "Seen that one before. I'm still here. Still going to tell you it's ok."

Kyle is staring down his shoes, but he glances up at Brian, chances a smile. "And I'm not gonna fire you, so don't even go there," Brian adds.

Kyle looks ashamed, and before he realizes what he's doing Brian's reaching out, his fingers on the kid's chin. "Come on, let's try that again. You gonna tell me that's how you really wanna kiss me?"

That's not what he was supposed to say. He really needs to learn not to goad people, because he's good at it, and then they go and do what he's daring them not to. 

Kyle surges forward and kisses Brian, hot and deep, and shit, yeah, Brian was asking for it. He kisses back, hands resting lightly on the kid's shoulders. "Been thinking about that a while?" Brian asks when Kyle pulls back for a breath and Kyle latches his mouth into the ink on Brian's neck, and clearly, yeah, something's been on this kid's mind for a while. Brian’s digging his own fucking grave. 

"Probably not the most professional decision," Kyle says, and Brian laughs, low, because that's supposed to be his line. He wants to tell the kid how there's nothing bad in it for the talent when you sleep with your manager, it only ever works out for the best for you. It's your manager that gets screwed over, every time. Every single fucking time, and then some. 

"Fine by me," Brian lies, because he's good at this kind of lie, and kisses Kyle so he's backed up against the wall, and when he feels Kyle's shoulders press there, Brian settles his hands on the kid's waist to see how good he as at this. He kisses like he's asking Kyle to impress him, and Kyle gets the message, gets the request, and starts tonguing Brian's bottom lip, hesitantly, then confidently runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Brian's head, blunt nails digging in. It's clear who's in charge, though, it always is, it's always Brian and he's always to blame, so he might as well give himself something to be blamed for. He lets Kyle kiss him quite impressively for a few minutes, then stills him with hands on his hips.

He can feel Kyle inhale deeply, like he's steadying himself for the aftermath, but Brian does his best to hide his smirk when he drops to his knees. He's rewarded with Kyle's sharp, high gasp.

"Schechter," he says, tremulously.

"You look like you need this," Brian says, cheek nuzzling the line of Kyle's cock. Kyle starts to tremble, and Brian feels his mouth start to water. He doesn't think too hard about why he's doing this, about what he wants out of it. Because if he did, then he'd have to remember the last time he was on his knees in the studio, and he doesn't want to. He wants to be here, now, to show Kyle what he's good at - taking care of his band.  He thumbs Kyle's hipbones through his tight jeans, then undoes the fastening. Kyle gasps, as though he thought up until this moment that Brian was teasing, and if Brian wasn't sure, he is now. He doesn't mess around; he doesn't give half-hearted promises. When he says he's gonna do something, he does it. He yanks Kyle's jeans down, tugs down his boxers, and takes Kyle's cock into his mouth and starts to suck. Kyle thunks his head hard on the wall and Brian knows he's doing nothing to convince him that yeah, as a general rule you probably shouldn't let your manager suck you off. Brian's not easy to say no to, and he knows it. 

"Jesus," Kyle says, as Brian takes his time. Kyle doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, settling them on the wall, grabbing at the air - then a hand settles on Brian's neck, and tentatively on his ink. It's as good a spot as any for Kyle to fixate, and Brian wonders if it's a kink, or if it reminds him of someone, of some other tattoo he can't touch, high on someone else's neck. Brian Schechter: always an excellent stand-in.

Kyle snaps himself out of his own self-imposed silence with a moan and then a raspy, "Schechter, christ, how are you so fucking hot?"

Brian rewards Kyle by cradling his balls, gently rolling them between his fingers. 

"Schechter, I - I - Brian," he says, and then he's coming in Brian's mouth, and it's easy, it's easy to swallow and sit back on his heels, his eyes closed. Kyle groans and hauls Brian up, kisses his throat and fumbles for Brian's belt buckle.

"You're good," Brian says, "You don't have to," and he means it.

"Yeah, no," Kyle says, and opens Brian's pants, wraps his hand around his dick and Brian hisses, giving in and thrusting into Kyle's grip, tilts his neck to give Kyle more. "You trying to tell me that all the people you did this for never gave it back?"

"Not all the people," Brian says, and he doesn't bother trying to explain, blinks away how accustomed he's become to how sucking someone off is always followed by the desperate raw feeling of having that someone just do up their pants and walk away, even if he'd just told them to, even if it was his own idea. Because then Kyle's grip changes so it's just right, and another few strokes and Schechter's coming, and for a long, blissed out second, he forgets where he is, who he is, what he's doing. And then he's back in his body.

Kyle looks pleased, quiet, smiling. Brian gets the kid a handful of paper towels and claps him on the shoulder, because he's the manager, and he just saved another band from an untimely meltdown. It hardly matters that he did it on his knees.

 

 

It isn't the first thing out of his mouth when CJ asks him about how his day went, but it's close.  
“I didn’t think I’d go there again,” he says.

“There’s a reason we’re supposed to talk about it before it happens,” CJ says. “Not because you need my permission. Because I’m a lot smarter than you.”

"I'm not, it's just - " He thinks about saying, I gave it up when I married you, but that makes him sound like an asshole, and anyway, it's not true.

"It's complicated," CJ says. "But it's you. Everything starts out complicated with you. It's never easy until you've fought with it all night.”

A dozen responses go through his head but he doesn’t manage to say any of them aloud.

“If it's more than just about the band, we can talk about that," she adds quietly. "That offer wasn't only just open that once."

Brian's eyes go wide. "I thought it - I thought it was specific to that situation."

"It came up because of that situation," CJ says, and he can feel her mocking the way he'd said that word instead of a person's name. "But it wasn't limited to that."

"Oh," he says.  This bending of the rules of their relationship, CJ's tolerance for the way he was best at taking care of people in giving up too much of himself, it hadn't exactly worked out well last time. But it had worked, for a while. He wonders if that's what's going to happen now. CJ just shakes her head at him.

"Let's talk," she says, and to Brian's relief, she carries most of the conversation. 

 

 

Kyle finds him, headphones on, eyes on the display, marking out seconds on his notebook. Brian doesn't take of his headphones, because Kyle smiles at him, calm, and Brian knows he just wants the company. He's marking a blip at 2:01 when Kyle's hands are on his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense muscle and Brian groans, losing a few seconds in the listen. Kyle takes it as all the encouragement he needs to keep digging his fingers in, tight into the muscle, and it's more than just a token effort, Kyle knows what he's doing. Brian relaxes into his hands, finally slips the headphones off. Who's he kidding, he hasn't been listening since the bridge. Kyle really goes at it, then, digging his fingers into the muscle under Brian's shoulder blades, rolling his arm to loosen it, rubbing again.

"Took a few massage school classes last year," Kyle says smugly. Brian groans.

"Fuck," he says, and Kyle laughs, rubs for a few minutes, and then bends down and kisses Brian's ear. Brian tenses. 

"No?" Kyle says, still whisper soft against his ear. "Ok," he says, and pulls back, but doesn't take his fingers from Brian's shoulders.

'Wait," Brian says, turning in his chair, knees against Kyle's thighs. Kyle looks scared, and Brian feels like shit. "I meant - wait," Brian says, and takes Kyle's hand and places it on the back of Brian's neck. Kyle smiles hesitantly and then his thumb strokes the spot behind Brian's ear and Brian lets himself close his eyes, because, this kid only came here to make him feel good, and damn if he doesn't want that, too. Kyle steps forward, and Brian spreads his legs, and Kyle's knees are pressing against the chair, Kyle resting his hands on Brian's shoulders, fingers digging in an echo of what he was doing before, but this is a different kind of pull. 

"Kyle," Brian says, looking up at him. "What do you want?" He says it as gently as he can, because he knows, he just wants to make sure so he can give the kid what he needs.

Kyle's fingers tighten for a fraction of a second, then he smoothes them along Brian's t-shirt.

He knows he's off his game when Kyle says, quietly, "I'm not, like, after something, Schechter," and then he ducks his head. "When I see you I just - want to touch you."

Brian can't help it, his eyes snap up to Kyle's face, his head snaps back.

"You - "

"Arianna tells me I have a thing for authority figures, but her mom's a psychiatrist, so, I think it's half bullshit."

"Half bullshit?" is what Brian manages to say.

Kyle flushes. "I think it's hot when you go all manager on us." He ducks his head. "It's not like, a kink or anything, it's just, you're so intense."

"Kyle," Brian says, in his manager voice, and Kyle exhales sharply. 

"So, I'm gonna go," Kyle says, but then Brian stands, and he's flush against Kyle, who drops his hands immediately to his sides.

"I think," Brian says, moving in a little closer, "that you're going to kiss me, actually," and Kyle makes a noise that Brian thinks he didn't mean to make at all. "Doesn't that sound more like it?"

"Yeah," Kyle says, and then he turns and meets Brian's mouth and fuck, fuck, fuck, Brian's in trouble. He wraps his arms around the kid, and is already thinking about whether or not he's too old to fucking strip the kid on the floor. 

"I, uh - " Kyle says, as Brian shoves his hands up underneath his shirt. "I don't know if you wanted - what you  - " he stops, unable to speak as Brian twists his nipple. "I don't know what you wanted but we could go to my apartment," Kyle says, all in a rush. Brian pulls back and looks at him. "I mean, this is fine, I'm ok with - "

"Keys," Brian says, holding his hands out. "I'm not letting you drive that rust bucket with your hands shaking like that."

"My hands aren't - " Kyle protests, but they are when he fumbles to get a hand in his pocket, and when Brian grins at him, Kyle grins back. 

He starts an email as Kyle is getting into the passenger seat.

When Kyle asks, he says, "Telling my wife I'll be home late."

"Oh," he says. "Shit, man, you're married, I didn't fucking think, I - "

Brian silences him with a firm hand on his knee. "We can talk about non-monogamous relationship structures later," Brian says. "but after I fuck you."

Kyle makes a strangled noise, his knees spreading wide in the seat.

"Ok?" Brian says, and starts driving. 

Kyle's got a little shoebox of a studio, but it's his, and Brian thinks there's a reason that Kyle ended up the emotional anchor of the band. He's smart with his money, he's smart with his boundaries, insisting on his own space when Arianna and Christian and Vale are living out of each other's pockets. Kyle's been in LA for years, his parents over in San Diego. He's got a practice space in the corner by the window, just off the side of the bathroom. He's got his laundry in a hamper. The kid's solid as a fucking rock. 

Kyle's not going to quit; if he left, he'd give the band a fucking vote over it. He's not an addict; isn't even gonna use recreationaly. He's not faking his way through the music; if anything, he's holding back.

So why does he need Brian?  

Kyle isn't noticing Brian's stopped in the middle of his apartment like a fucking idiot who can't remember how to walk, talk, or breathe. Kyle's tossing his jacket over a chair, running the tap for a glass of water, drinking it. Shit, the kid's nervous, and Brian kicks back into reality. He thinks about what his wife said. He thinks about what he needs, what he wants from Kyle.

"You, uh, having second thoughts?" Kyle asks.

"Nah," Brian says. _Just first ones._ He takes off his shirt, tugging it up over his head and tossing it on the floor. Kyle watches the shirt, then seems to steel himself before looking at Brian.

"Fuck," Kyle says, clanking his water glass down in the sink, and closing the distance between him and Brian. Kyle's gaze sweeps over Brian's chest, over his ink, over his face. 

"I want to fuck you nice and slow," Brian says, and Kyle's eyes fall closed. "So do you want me to suck you off first?"

"Uh," Kyle says, drawn out and stunned, but then, because he's Kyle, he pulls it together fast. "I can wait?" he says.

Brian smirks at him. "I'll remind you that you said that," Brian says, leaning in, close enough that he feels Kyle's shudder. He presses his nose to Kyle's jaw and inhales. He smells so fucking good and it brings Brian right into the moment. He's here in this clean studio, not in a hotel room, not on a bus, not in an apartment he doesn't recognize because it's too new, too strange. He doesn't need to hold Kyle together, or hold him in place. He loves this band but he doesn't need them to be anything other than what they are; if they fall apart, they aren't going to take him with them. He's here because he wants to fuck Kyle so slow they're both slick with sweat, because he wants to see Kyle's face, he wants to feel Kyle against him. Because Kyle's this young kid who loves his band, because he touches Brian in the studio, because he fucking asked him back to his apartment.

He kisses Kyle, going right to hot and deep, and Kyle gasps and kisses back, hands tentatively brushing Brian's chest. Brian nips at Kyle's lip and then slides his hands up under Kyle's shirt, watching. Kyle's hands are quick to settle at the seam and tug up, pulling it over his head. He looks at Brian, eyes dark, mouth quirked. He doesn't need reassurance about taking his clothes off or what they're about to do. He just needs Brian to touch him, and he steps close and waits for Brian to get his hands back on him. Yeah, this is gonna be good.

Brian wants Kyle on the bed with his pants still on, wants to rock against him, drag his mouth all over Kyle's chest. "Come on,," Brian says, and steers Kyle toward the bed. He moans when he lays down and Brian climbs right on top of him, and Brian wonders if maybe Kyle thought this wasn't going to happen. "Mmm," Kyle says, biting his lip, already tipping his head back as Brian leans over him.

"What a nice bed," Brian says, and then he licks Kyle's neck, and Kyle settles his hands on Brian's back and pulls him in.

"Soft, isn't it?" Kyle says, sliding his back against the comforter, so he arches into Brian.

"Springy," Brian says, and pushes down on Kyle's shoulders, lets him up. Kyle's eyes fall shut, his mouth open, and Schechter does it again. "Gonna be good for when I'm fucking you," Brian whispers into his ear and Kyle groans and grabs Brian's back.

"Jesus, Schechter," Kyle says, mouthing Brian's neck. "Take my fucking pants off already."

Brian kisses him first, slow and deep, pushing his tongue in, Kyle's mouth open wide. Brian presses Kyle into the mattress, hands on his shoulders, and Kyle arches up, their hips meeting. Kyle groans and clutches at Brian's back, and Brian does it again, pushes him down. Kyle arches again, pushing even closer to Brian, hands on Brian’s back, pulling him in. 

"Please," Kyle breathes in Brian’s ear. "Please take my pants off."

"Told you - should have let me suck you off first," Brian says. "You're getting all impatient."

"Gonna fucking come in my pants if you keep doing that," Kyle says. "Shoving me down like that."

"Nah, you're gonna wait a little longer for me," Brian says, his hands at Kyle's belt, "Aren't you?"

It's a tease but Kyle nods, eyes closed, and Brian likes his easy assent, so he undoes his belt, then the button of his jeans. He tugs a little, so Kyle's jeans slide down, showing the top line of his boxers, and Brian tugs those down so he can see the peak of Kyle's hips. bites down, and then slips his fingers under the elastic, against Kyle’s soft skin.

Kyle's breath hitches, and when Brian looks up, he's licking his lips. Brian slides his hand down, inch by inch, until his fingers touch coarse hair.  
Kyle makes a noise he tries to swallow back, and Brian brushes his fingers through the hair, then he pulls his hand back, rests it on Kyle's stomach. "Fuck, Schechter, you're such a tease."

 

 

"Shhh," Brian says to Kyle, and then licks circles around his navel. “It's important to take it slow when you have the time.”

"Please," Kyle says, breath stuttering. "I want - "

"Tell me," Brian says. Kyle makes a deep, needy sound, and tosses his head to the side, face smashed in the pillow, like Brian asking him is just too much. "Kyle," Brian says, using the manager voice he knows Kyle likes so much. Kyle goes tense, bites his lip, lets it go. 

"Want your fingers inside me," Kyle says, going red from either lust or embarrassment or both, and then, like once he's said it, he might as well do the thing properly. "Want you to finger me open. Wanna beg you for it." Brian's already imagining it, working Kyle open, slower than Kyle's thinking, one finger at a time until he's panting - pleading. 

"Yeah," Brian says. "Yeah, I want that."  
Kyle points to what's essentially a shoebox on top of the hamper – inside, Brian finds a good kind of lube, condoms, and a few toys. Behind him he hears the sound of Kyle dropping his pants, the rustle of material, the belt on the floor. .

Brian rubs the lube in the palm of his hand, warming it up, longer than he has to, just so that he can see the way Kyle unconsciously spreads his legs

"Lie back," Brian says, and Kyle scoots himself down so he's lying on the bed. Brian bends his legs where he wants them, knees bent, spread. He brushes his fingers along Kyle's thighs, along his ass.

"Please," Kyle chokes out, and Brian wasn't waiting for him to ask, but he's not going to say no. He rubs a slick fingertip over Kyle's hole, pressing slowly in. Kyle moans, spreading his legs wider, and Brian's sliding knuckle deep, then deeper. Kyle is hot, and tight, and Brian can feel the way he moves, the way his legs shift as he bears down.

"So fucking hot," he murmurs and Kyle groans. Brian slides his finger out and then in again, then rubs across Kyle's hole. "So hot, spread out for me like this," Brian says.

Kyle tosses his head back, and Brian moves his finger in and out. He's thinking about adding a second finger when Kyle jumps, digs his heels in. Brian sucks in a breath and moves just how he had a moment before and Kyle tenses again, and pleads.

"Yeah?" Brian asks. “Louder.”

Kyle moans, and says, "Fuck, Brian, again, please, do it again," and he does, because Kyle just called him by his first name. Brian pulls back and Kyle chokes at the absence, trying to move his body to follow, and then Brian adds a second finger. Kyle goes perfectly still, and then makes a noise high in his throat. Brian moves slowly, and this time Kyle bears down, and Brian gets the angle right and crooks his fingers just so and Kyle's mouth goes slack, his chest rising and falling fast. "Brian, please, Brian," and then Brian's not going as slow anymore, sliding his fingers in and out, brushing his other hand up and down over Kyle's thighs. Kyle's legs are trembling, and he's rocking down against Brian's hand.

"Want another?" Brian asks. Kyle half- gasps, half-whines. "Only if you want."

"I want - yeah, I want - God, Brian, please," Kyle says. Brian goes even slower, because he doesn't know this kid's limits, but Kyle's body language is easy to read and Brian knows when to go slow, how to ease in. Finally, three fingers knuckle deep, and Kyle starts to beg outright.

"Brian, please, Brian, fuck, fuck," Kyle says as Brian slides his fingers in. Kyle's temples are sweaty, his stomach muscles tense. Schechter has been deliberately avoiding looking at his cock, but when he does, it's full, red, and leaking.

"What do you want?" Brian asks softly. Kyle whines. "You want me to make you come?"  

Brian thinks he won't get an answer, is going to have to try something and see what reaction he gets, but then Kyle clears his throat. "Want you to push me down," Kyle says. "Want you to talk to me," Kyle says and his voice breaks. "While you fuck me."

Brian feels the heat suddenly go to his cock, and he's fucking rock hard and aching in his jeans. He fingers Kyle for a minute more and says, "OK," as he pulls out, and Kyle's whining, needy sounds in his throat. Brian strips off his pants, unwraps the condom, slicks up his cock. "Shhh," Brian says as he spreads Kyle's legs, nudges his opening.

"Yeah, fuck, yeah, please," Kyle says.

"Shhh," Brian says again, lining himself up, and then pushing his hands on Kyle's shoulders, so he's pushing him down as he slides in. Kyle making short, deep noises, eyes closed, head back.  "You like that?" Brian says. "You like me holding you here? You like that I've got you? That I'm right here? That you can't think of anything but me?" He's punctuating each question with a slow, deep thrust, and Kyle's legs are slipping in the sheets, heels and feet digging in, as he bears down against Brian's cock, arches up against his arms holding him there.

"You," Kyle says, and Brian realizes, balls deep inside Kyle, that he's wrong once again. He's been thinking Kyle likes to be held down, that he likes to be teased, that he likes to be topped, but it's clear in this one word, and the way Kyle looks at him, mouth open, eyes wide, that what he really likes is Brian. He likes how Brian likes teasing him, likes how Brian likes topping him. He's here for what Brian wants to give him. Brian groans, slams in hard, and Kyle groans with him. They move like that, silent except for grunts and thrusts and then Kyle goes bow tight under him, tight around his cock, tense muscles, trembling hands.

"Fuck, Brian, need to - need to - " Kyle says, and Brian can feel the edge he's riding. Brian gets a hand between them, thumbs the head of Kyle's cock and wraps his fist around it. Kyle's head snaps back, and Brian bites his neck, and he barely gets a rhythm with his strokes and his thrusts and Kyle's coming all over his stomach, shouting Brian's name. And fuck if that isn't enough to drive Brian to pound into him, as Kyle murmurs, "Yes, yes, come on, come on," until Brian's shouting into Kyle's shoulder, "Fuck, Kyle, fuck, yeah, yeah, yes," and then just shouting through blinding hot pleasure as he comes, collapsing against Kyle's chest, panting. 

Kyle's quiet as Brian pulls out, ties off the condom and then comes back, his weight dipping the bed. Brian lies flat, not touching Kyle, because he's not sure what happens next. But at least he got on the bed. Kyle elbows Brian in the ribs and Brian startles and complains even though it doesn't hurt. "So," Kyle says, his voice slow, thick with something that's almost sleep, "Tell me about this non-monogamous thing you said earlier."

Brian had thought he'd forget about it, or that just the reassurance from Brian that it was fine, a thing he had with his wife, would be enough. But Kyle shifts, so he's not quite on his side, enough to be facing Brian without turning his whole body, a gesture of still protecting himself.

"Because," he says, "If it means that I get to - that we get to do this again - "

Something strange and complicated happens in Brian's chest, making it tight and hurt in a good, scary way. 

 

 

 

Bob Bryar shows up at his door on Sunday morning and the first thing Brian says is, "Call me from the airport next time, asshole, and you won't need to rent a car." The look of relief on Bob's face means that Brian's said the right thing. Of course he has. It's not like he thinks this is a pleasure visit, but it's not business either. Brian's seen the same look on his own face in the mirror, and he hasn't talked to Bob much this past month but he remembers their last conversation, and to be honest, he's not that surprised to see Bob here.

"I just couldn't," Bob says, as Brian pours him coffee. Bob's rubbing his wrists in that unconscious way he does when he's feeling nervous and just a little guilty and Brian has to stop himself from getting an icepack out of the freezer. That's not what Bob needs right now. He doesn't need Brian to be his manager. He needs Brian to tell him there's life after the decision he's just made.

"I know," Brian says. 

"He's just - " Bob says, and looks searchingly at Brian.

"I know," Brian says, letting a lot more in behind it this time. 

"It's different," Bob says, "And it's the fucking same, and I just - when I got back to Chicago, I couldn't find the keys to my fucking cousin's place where I was gonna crash so I just sat there in the hallway for fucking three hours until he came home. And I was thinking the whole time, I could call Ray, hell, I could even call Frank and take it back, but I'd just stare at my phone."

Brian just nods and gets up and washes his cup, because even when he was sure, when he was completely sure, he'd done that, he'd thought about going back. Sometimes the only way he'd been able to stop himself was to not look at his phone at all, and that's how weeks became months became years and now, even when there's no way to go back, he's sometimes not sure how to pick up that phone anymore.

"You need a place to crash?"

"Just for the weekend. I'm not having a mid-life crisis, I've got some things lined up." What he doesn't say is what they both know: he had to come out and see what life looked like on the other side of the band.

"Hey, Schechter, can I borrow a pair of socks?" Kyle shouts from the bedroom, and fuck if Brian didn't forget he was here, taking a fucking nap.

"Yeah," Brian says, "Not the black ones."

"Fuck your black ones, I found a pair of plaid ones I'm taking out of your possession for good," he says, and comes around the corner and stops. He's shirtless an he's holding a pair of plaid socks Brian has no idea where he found. Kyle freezes when he sees Bob, and visibly shrinks. "Sorry," Kyle says. "I didn't know that - "

"Kyle, this is Bob."

"Hey Bob," he says, waving with the hand that's holding the socks.

"Nice to meet you," Bob says.

"Yeah," Kyle says. He's eyeing Bob warily, and Brian doesn't have any doubt that he knows who Bob is but he's either too stunned or too polite to say anything, "I'm just gonna go take a shower," Kyle says and disappears down the hall.

"Who's Kyle?" Bob asks once he hears the water for the shower start.

"Lead guitar for Bad Laundry."

"On the label," Bob says. "One of your bands." Brian nods, and then, even if he saw it coming a mile away, it still makes him flinch, "In your bedroom?"

"It's not - " Brian says and then stops because there are too many things it's not.

Bob just looks at him in that unsettling way that gives Brian serious flashbacks of a face peeking out from behind a bunk curtain on the bus, from down the hall of what he'd hoped was a deserted hallway, from just a few steps behind wherever Brian was holding things together with his bare fucking hands. 

"What fucking kind of a name is Bad Laundry. You didn't try to talk them out of it?"

"Nope," Brian says.

"You fucker, you're taking it as a personal challenge, to sell them with their name exactly like that."

Brian just nods, and looks at the bathroom where he hears the shower running.

"How about I go run some errands," Bob says, snapping Brian back to the moment, "and come back in a few hours with dinner?"

"Errands, Bryar?" Brian says, but Bob doesn't take bait of the tease. "Ok," Brian says. "Six?"

"Six, Schechter, don't make me wait or your food will get cold," and Bob, always the neat freak, takes his cup and puts it into the sink instead of just leaving it, and then he goes out the door.

 

 

Brian knocks on the bathroom door. The shower's still running. "Be out in a sec," Kyle shouts.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Kyle says, after a minute. Brian hears him hit his elbow against the side of the stall shower, fucking lanky kid. 

"So I'm sorry about the weird way you met Bob," Brian says, because he figures that's a good place to start. 

"S'ok," Kyle says. "Sorry I wasn't wearing a shirt."

"Whatever, Bob's seen worse on tour," Brian says.

There's just the sound of the shower, then Kyle says, "He your ex?"

"What?" Brian says. "No," because, no. Of all the thing he thought Kyle was going to ask, it wasn't that. 

"You were just weird about me being here," Kyle says. 

"That's not it," Brian says.

"It's fine," Kyle says. "You don't have to talk about it."

"I never fucked Bob," Brian says, and he realizes he's shouting. When he stops, he can hear Kyle ducking his head under the shower stream.

"But did you ever make sweet love to him?" Kyle says.

"Fuck you, get out of my shower," Brian says, flooded with relief, which surprises him, because he's not actually sure what he was afraid of.

 

 

 

Bob comes back at six sharp with veggie burgers from some fucking grill down the street that his wife likes, but he's also got sweet potato fries.

"It's not like I don't remember what you eat," Bob says, when Brian complains about the veggie burgers. "So, Kyle," Bob says. Brian dips a sweet potato fry in curry ketchup,  "Does he know?"

"What?" Brian says, "That I'm an addict? That I'm married?"

"That you've done this before," Bob says, "and how that turned out."

"Not exactly," Brian says.

"You gonna tell him?" Bob asks. Brian wonders if he even would have told Bob about Kyle if he hadn't been here. He knows Kyle was wondering it, it hung unspoken as Kyle toweled himself dry, as Brian licked his bare collarbone, until he felt Kyle getting hard under the towel, until they'd stumbled back to the bedroom and Brian had let Kyle fuck his mouth and came before Kyle did, all over Kyle's legs.

"I don't know what he wants," Brian says.

"That's a fucking terrible lie, Schechter. Of course you know what he wants. That's what you do. That's fucking who you are. The better question is - "

"Don't ask me what I want."

"Nah," Bob says easily, " I know better than to do that because its not like you know, and then you'd just feed me some bullshit about how you're holding the band together, how he needs you to not make it complicated - "

"Shut the fuck up, Bryar," Brian hisses.

"I was there. You can't try and pretend with me. I saw how it was and I saw what it did to you."

"It wasn't always - "Brian starts.

"No, sometimes it was normal, it was good for all of us, even, but the rest of the time it was fucked up and Ray said - "

"Fuck what Toro said."

"Ray said," Bob continues, ignoring the interruption "that it was worse before I got there."

"Depends on how you think of worse."

"I should fucking punch you for that," Bob says. "That's the sort of thing a good friend hits you in the fucking face for saying."

Brian sighs, and stirs a fry around in the ketchup. "Are we done talking about this?"

Bob doesn't answer. "He seems like a nice kid," he says after he's finished half his burger.

"He's a kid," Brian says.

"So it doesn't mean anything?"

"No, that's not - "

"Exactly," Bob says, "It's your fucking band, Schechter. Your label. Your band. Of course it means something. I just want you to figure out what it means before you - "

"Before I what?" Brian says.

"Before you leave them," Bob says. "You know, I'm not hungry anymore, I'm gonna go for a walk," Bob says and he gets up and walks out.

Bob comes back a lot sooner than Brian expects; he's gone maybe ten minutes and he comes back in without knocking, his phone in his hand. Brian's half sure he's going to say he's called Ray and he's going back to LA. 

"Your boyfriend just called me," Bob says, and Brian stares at him. He knows his mouth is open but he can't close it, and he can't think of anything to say, even though Bob's waiting.

"Uh," he finally manages.

"You wanna tell me why you told him I'm your ex?"

"I did not tell him that," Brian says. "How did he even get your number?"

"Your phone," Bob says. "So, anyway, your boyfriend - Kyle - called me and completely distracted me from my righteous storming off by telling me that if I wanted to get back together with you, I should tell him so he and I could talk, so we wouldn't put you in the middle."

"He - what?" Brian says.

"I did my best to assure him that you and I were good with being just friends, but he said that, even though you didn't like to talk about it, he knows that whatever happened before was pretty serious and obviously important to you, so he wanted to acknowledge that."

"Bob - "

"So why does he think - "

"Because you're from before," Brian says. "Because I haven't told him anything specific, but he's a fucking smart kid, ok? He can read between the lines, and you're here, so - "

"I'm not getting back together with you," Bob says, and Brian can't help it, he starts to laugh and he can't stop. "Call your boyfriend and straighten this out," Bob says, and Brian laughs more. "I'm serious, Schechter," but then Bob's laughing, too. 

Brian does call Kyle, who first tries to pretend he didn't call Bob and then tries to make Brian admit Bob was his ex. Brian has to use his manager voice, but then he can almost feel Kyle respond to it, Bob's shaking his head at him, and Brian wants to tell Kyle how grateful he is that his ridiculous phone call made Bob come back, seems to have broken the ice that was threatening to form between them. He tells Kyle to get a good night's sleep before rehearsal tomorrow and he can feel Bob shaking his head behind him.

 

 

 

Brian's dragging Bob along with him to Costco because he can, because he's half-afraid if there's too much distance between them, the ice will creep back in. Brian turns on the radio on and it blares on in the middle of the chorus, a voice that always sends him to high alert, all instinct. He turns the dial down so it's just a whisper of music. Bob looks at him, looks out the window. Takes off his sunglasses.

"You could call him, you know," Bob says.

“Sure, and say what?”

“I don't know, you always seemed to know the right thing to say.”

“Not anymore,” Brian says, and Bob shrugs.

“Yeah, me either.”

"I don't blame you for leaving," Bob says eventually.

"It's ok," Brian says. He's suddenly exhausted.

"No, I mean, I really don't. I'm just getting mad at you because I can't face getting mad at myself."

"You have to leave everything eventually."

"I'm sure you tell yourself that all the time, but that doesn't make it true. You going diving tomorrow?" 

"You finally coming with me?"

"No way," Bob says, "But I'll come watch you land, because sometimes you trip and fall flat on your face and that part's pretty awesome."

Bob turns on the radio back up when they both know the song's over.

 

 

Brian knocks on Kyle's door, the first time he's gone over without calling first.

"Hey," Kyle says, and his smile is flirty and welcome and Brian feels less weird, less like he ought to turn around and get back in his car. “Your ex still visiting?”

“Bob's not my ex,” Brian says.

"You want something to drink?" Kyle asks. He's got a cut on his cheek from where Matthew was fucking around with his bass in the rehearsal room and caught him across the face.

They had all frozen and looked at Brian, glaring through the glass, as if they expected him to start screaming. God, they were such kids. He'd just brought Kyle a paper towel to clean up the blood, and told Matthew to be more careful with his instrument.

"Here, let me take a look at the cut."

"I'm fine," Kyle says, but he turns his face to Brian anyway. Brian smoothes his fingers around it, checking for swelling. "Ow," Kyle says. Brian surprises himself by kissing Kyle.

"Kinky, Schechter," he says.

"I'm just making sure you're ok.”

"You could have done that at the rehearsal," Kyle says, though it's breathy because Brian's stroking his fingers up and down Kyle's neck.

"No, I couldn't," Brian says.

"I'm not gonna break up the band or anything," Kyle says. "It's cool if you wanna stop."

"I don't," Brian says, and for once feels like he's being completely honest with Kyle. "I don't want to stop.” He thinks about what Bob had said, about Brian having been here before. “We should have a band meeting. They might not want me to be their manager if I'm tied up with you."

"Oh, we're tying me up next? Sweet," Kyle says.

"I'm serious," Brian says, and then he feels guilty for the way Kyle's face shutters. "The whole band needs a chance to say whether or not they're ok with it. With us.”

“You want them to know?”

“They probably already know, but figuring out is different than being told first.”

“Ok,” Kyle says, and Brian crosses his arms in front of his chest, squeezes out the tightness in his diaphragm. Maybe he doesn't need to leave everything eventually.

“So, listen,” Brian says, and starts telling Kyle a story about how he messed up something like this before. No one can blame him for leaving out most of the details.

 

Brian gets Bad Laundry a gig opening for the The Civil Wars' west coast tour before the album's even done. There's lots of crying and hugging of each other, then some crying and hugging of Brian, which he tolerates.  Kyle, in his increasingly frequent way of speaking on behalf of the whole band, says,  "What can we do to repay you?"

"You don’t need to do anything. You already pay me. This is my job.” But Kyle is still looking at him with that shit-eating grin and so Brian says, “You can come out skydiving with me.” He certainly doesn't think they'll agree.

It takes a few weeks, several classes and overcoming a few chickenshit moments, but the whole damn band jumps out of a plane with him. 

Brian looks out at the kids, sloppy formation, Arianna not following directions. Kyle's just in front of him, and Brian wants to wave to get his attention, remind him when to pull his chute, but Kyle knows. He'll be fine. They’ll all be fine. Brian can see them all, and it feels right to be falling like this, to be falling with them, and to still be in control. They all even land on their feet.

When the band’s busy packing up the gear and looking at the pictures they took mid-air, Brian turns his phone on and finds the number he could never bring himself to delete. The voice on the other end picks up sooner than he was ready for. He almost hangs up. Instead, he says, after a breath he's sure is audible over the phone, "Hey, Gerard."  
   



End file.
